


didn't remember this yesterday but I remember it now

by cashewdani



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:29:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani/pseuds/cashewdani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have itineraries and cover stories and rushed, amazing sex in dark rooms while they’re supposed to be saying hello to important people or getting a drink at the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	didn't remember this yesterday but I remember it now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for irishmizzy with the prompt of "SNEAKING AROUND".

They arrive at places some time between 13 and 24 minutes apart because those were the two numbers they were given at coat check one night and it seemed perfect while they laughed about it, later, behind closed doors.

He lingers in bodegas and on street corners, sometimes asking the car to drive around the block a few more times, waiting to hear the four tones he picked for her texts because she said any song choice could be suspect. Might have people saying, “Oh, “Moon River” really doesn’t seem like your kind of music,” and thinking about how it must be the kind of music for whoever was calling.

They have itineraries and cover stories and rushed, amazing sex in dark rooms while they’re supposed to be saying hello to important people or getting a drink at the bar.

Dan comes home with ripped stockings in his pockets and the taste of Blair’s champagne in his mouth and everyone would say this is a terrible idea and that’s why no one is going to know.

At her mother’s Passover sedar this year, he’s a guest instead of a servant, and seated right across from her. As she passes him his sandwich of matzo and haroset, she runs her fingers over the back of his hand, which means, she wants him to stay until her mother and Cyrus have gone to bed. Long after Dorota has gone home for the night.

He says his goodbyes, after the honey cake and coffee, putting on his coat and seemingly taking the elevator down, but instead making a detour up the stairs. Dan lays back down on her bed, staring at the same ceiling she stares at when she can’t sleep, keeping his breath shallow and quiet, waiting for her.

He reaches for her nightstand, inside of which she’s started keeping issues of The New Yorker and books of classic poetry he’s loaned her. He thumbs through March’s issue even though he read it last Tuesday when her mother had unexpectedly stopped home to change for lunch.

When Blair comes in, she quietly mouths the word, “Hi,” at him, smiling and seemingly loosening up her spine.

He slides back on the silky bedspread until his back hits the headboard, and she settles in between his legs. Dan unclips her necklace and unzips her dress just low enough to see the top of her slip. It’s bone colored, like sand or hot oatmeal, and Dan feels himself flush and go warm.

He kisses between her shoulder blades and she stretches out like a cat, seemingly reaching for her toes, forcing him to lean against her back.

Dan wants to tell her that he loves the place her vertebrae curve in and start heading the other way but the knows it’ll only make her press one of her fingers against his lips, part a request to be quiet so no one hears, and the other part because that isn’t what this is supposed to be.

But besides that, he also wants to have lunch with Blair. He wants to go the movies and actually sit next to her. Stay out at jazz bars until they close at 5 in the morning, and discuss politics and art and literature. Because Blair’s the first girl that he didn’t feel like he was teaching about the things he liked or who was looking at him to fill some role. Because the thing is Blair would get rid of him if that was all she was looking for. He’s not royalty or famous or successful. He’s a kid from Brooklyn who’s thankfully a quick study and up for a challenge.

He just didn’t know how much of one.

She reaches to open her laptop, turning on It Happened One Night to drown out anything they can’t manage to keep to themselves, her breasts pressing down against his thigh. She turns and smiles at him and it weirdly feels domestic, this climbing into bed and shrugging off the day, going through the routines.

When she pulls herself up to her knees, facing him now, he helps her slide her dress down her torso and he thinks about their first kiss, the way he’d played with her wayward strap. He pulls her in, smelling her hair and biting her earlobe, tracing a pattern down her neck and into the divot of her collarbone with his mouth and he wants to kiss her like that night, before he knew it didn’t mean the start of anything.

But he’s afraid, just like he was afraid then, because even though it’s not about him raising her baby or being the first boy who was different and nice to her, or the one she’d been in love with since she’d first discovered what love was, it’s still not about him. He doesn’t think anyway. There’s really no way to know.

So, just like when they started this, and so many times after, she’s the one who pulls him in, who makes him face his fears only to come out the other side more uncertain.


End file.
